The Demons Inside
by Joshua 'RD' Clearwater
Summary: War has broken out across all of Europe, and one little German girl faces it full-force. Her plan is to reach America, to be safe, but will that safety be permanent? Which is worse, physical harm or mental instability? Could this perhaps be a story of war's passed, or a story of war's yet to come? Even the author doesn't know yet.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The day was crisp and the breeze, though not constant, was biting. Fall was well on its way, and to think that before a massive supercell moved over the country the temperature hovered around 81 or 76. The temperature had dropped about 10 degrees, leaving everything free of frost, but already the mornings were growing chillier. Fall was my favorite season back then, and still is to this day. To me, the Fall season symbolized my love of the outdoors. I didn't mind the other seasons, but Fall would forever be first in my heart. Perhaps due to the ease with which I could go outside, or maybe the chill air that would burn into my lungs as I practiced for my many sports teams, or perhaps it all went beyond even that. You see, I met my best friends in Fall. I was eleven, at the time, and had just moved over 6000 miles across the ocean and to a new country. Why move so far away? The War was coming. This War was unlike anything we had ever seen before; bodies lay on roadsides and in ditches, cars were stopped and abandoned like they carried the plague. Once pristine neighborhoods had been ransacked and pillaged, nothing left of them but broken windows and doors, and some shutters hanging loose on their hinges. Gunfire was all around, echoing through empty cities and overgrown fields; explosions were constant as well.

CHK-CHK-CHK-CHK!

TACKA-TACKA-TACKA-TACK!

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The sounds went on and on, a giant aviary with the guns calling out to their brethren. The ground shook with the footsteps of an approaching thunder giant, and our car had been flipped thrice, throwing two occupants from the burning wreck as my father and I lay pinned beneath the suffocating smoke and burning steel. Voices cried out, sirens wailed, and throughout it all my hand remained clasped to my little sister's. I would never let go of her hand, even after it was ripped from my grasp I would forever feel it's presence. So...so cold, it was. So small a hand, though it was so very dear to me. For many years thereafter my nightmares would be plagued by that hand, watching it get ever farther away as I desperately gave chase, always to no avail. I remember waking up as light was shone on my eyelids, and I looked up into the face of God, of my Eternal Savior, and the first thing I remember thinking was that He was much scruffier than my father had described, and I believe I must have said this aloud for His weathered and bearded face broke out into a warm smile. My voice was dry paper, crumbling away the longer I held it out to Him. His eyes grew sad and His face dropped, shaking His divine head. My heart stopped then, and I lost consciousness.

"_Ich gebe nicht einen Dreck, sauskrel! Lassen Sie mich meine Tochter, befehle ich dir!_" **(Translation: "I do not give a damn, pig-head. Let me see my daughter, I command you!")** My father's voice! So he hadn't been ripped away like my sister. My heart broke to hear his voice, and I cried out to him, my eyes opening painfully and feeling a burning sensation in my chest as I reached out a hand to him.

"_Papa! Ich habe Angst, bitte helfen Sie mir! Ich bin heir, Papa!_" **(Translation: "Papa! I am scared, please help me! I am here, Papa!")**

"_LASS MICH DURCH, SHEI__ß__E KOPF! HOLEN SIE MIR AUS DEM WEG!" _**(Translation: "LET ME THROUGH, SHIT HEAD! GET OUT OF MY DAMN WAY!" )** My father shouldered his way past the doctor and came to my side, his gray beard and hair such a familiar and welcome sight I wept for it. Past my watery haze I saw my father's pained face, the smile there genuine and loving. He wasn't looking too well, and I asked him about what happened to God? His face grew confused and he clearly didn't understand that I had seen the deity in the wreckage. I explained it to him, throwing in the word "dummy" at the end like the old me would have. That made the both of us smile, and father told me that while he himself hadn't seen God, the fact I did and had been sent back to the Earth meant that God truly loved me. I smiled and hugged him, feeling the familiar quiet strength in his small frame. My father was by no means ever cruel, but he could be if he so chose.

"_Papa...was geschah mit Ellie und Trudy und Lyssa? Haben sie zu Gott zu gehen? Werden wir sie wiedersehen?_" **(Translation: "Papa...what happened to Ellie and Trudy and Lyssa? Did they go to God? Will we see them again?")** I asked him finally, my voice muffled by the warmth of his scratchy and gray suit. His body stiffened against mine, and he pulled back to look into my eyes. From the look on his face, and even though I was very young, I knew the next words he said would be a lie and my own shoulders drooped as I began to sob, remembering Trudy's hand in mine; the hand that would haunt me until the day I died. To this day I still have the nightmares, of the night when I couldn't protect her. The worst part was that I would never know _who _killed her or my other sisters, nor what happened to my mother. They never found her body, and not knowing has always been the hardest part. I felt my father's hand go under my chin, and he raised it and stared directly into my eyes. His were deep, gentle pools of understanding, compassion, and confidence, and his words gave me new resolve.

"_Jetzt horen Sie mir zu, dummes Mädchen, trocknen die Tränen. Was wäre lhr Gro__ßvater sagen, wenn er sah, weinst du?_" **(Translation: "Now listen to me, silly girl, dry those tears. What would your Grandfather say if he saw you weeping?")** Papa's eyes twinkled with amusement as he spoke of Grandfather. My own eyes twinkled and I giggled wetly, drying my tears on the back of my hand. I licked my lips, tasting the odd metal that rested there. I knew my lips had been chapped, and I licked them again. Mother had always told me to not provide more wetness to chapped lips, but the rough ridges were so fascinating I continued to feel them, pulling on it with my teeth and getting an interesting peel on my tongue. Papa was distracted by something from the hallway, and suddenly he threw a blanket over me and left my room. Determined to keep my father with me despite his orders to stay put I stood up and followed, pulling the odd contraption attached with pins to my arm behind me.

While I walked with vigor to the door I peeked my blonde head around the doorframe and what I saw would haunt me like that hand. My warm and gentle Papa had grabbed a man by the neck and was poking a metal object through it, letting odd jelly spurt over wall and uniform. Papa moved on to another man, using a prong to rip out the man's chest and letting the jelly of his insides splatter everywhere. Papa grabbed their guns and smacked two officers with them, killing the first by grabbing the head in his hands and, with the sound a pencil made when I snapped it in class, the man fell against the wall. My Papa grabbed the guns in his hands, and used them in a sort of dance, TACKA-TACKA-TACKA-TACK'ing the remaining three men before him, firing still long after they had fallen. The walls were coated in red jelly, and so was my Papa, little droplets all over his face and his scratchy and gray suit covered in it. I was scared of Papa, terrified as I ran behind the bed and shivered not with cold. Of course, my attempt at hiding was for naught, as Papa came back and smiled at me.

"_Arabella, warum sind Sie verstecken sich vor der Tür? Haben Sie keine Angst, werden die Uniformen nicht, Sie zu verletzen. Komm her, mein Schatz._" **(Translation: "Arabella, why are you hiding from the door? Don't be scared, the Uniforms are not going to hurt you. Come here, sweetheart.")** My Papa's voice was soft enough, and filled with so much compassion I could not bring myself to stay sheltered from him. I moved from behind my safe place, standing small before the red wave of his wrath, fearful that he would condemn me to the fate of those he had just put to permanent sleep.

"I_ch...ich habe keine Angst vor den Männern, Papa, ich habe Angst vor dir. Ich konnte mich nicht aus der Suche zu halten, und ich sah, was Sie getan haben. Warum haben Sie sie zu Gott, Papa schicken? Es waren Männer von Deutschland, und ihr habt mir gesagt, dass wir anderen Menschen, nur Taschen oder Ziele nie schaden._" **(Translation: "I...I am not afraid of the men, Papa, I am afraid of you. I could not keep myself from looking, and I saw what you did to them. Why did you send them to God, Papa? They were men of Germany, and you told me we never harm other humans, only bags or targets.")** My voice was silk and roses, my eyes were loyal and bowed to him, staring at the pale white of my feet. I heard his sharp intake of breath, his soft cry, and in my moment of hapless confusion I rose my eyes to meet his as they turned milky white, as they stared ahead at something unseen, and, unsettled, I stepped to him and cried his name. It took only a second for the metal to rip through his chest fully, covering my paper-white face with the odd red jelly. The object withdrew, and punctured once more, more violently than before, and ripped to the side, tossing my father the way I had tossed my doll in a temper tantrum. I screamed once more, my full-moon eyes terrified as my father caved in on himself, slumping against the door. In his place stood a tall man, dressed in the pale green of the Men of Germany, and on his face was fear and concern as he looked at me. There was no object in his hand, that was held by a man behind him. The first stepped away, his face young and absent of the stubble my father once said was indicative of manhood. My pooled eyes beseeched his, my lip quivering as I swallowed the solid ball in my throat and choked on the salty tears that wanted so desperately to burst like his chest just had.

"_Ich...ich bin so traurig, kleines Mädchen...Bitte haben Sie Verständnis, dass dies notwendig war. Er war ein Verbrecher...Ich wollte nicht, ihn zu töten, das verspreche ich. Ich habe ihn nicht getötet, wenn. Er tat._" **(Translation:** **"I...I am so sorry, little girl...Please understand that this was necessary. He was a criminal...I did not want to kill him, I promise. I did not kill him, though. He did.") **The young man's voice was soft and pleading, one of his hands extended to me palm first as though imploring me to not let my dam of pure emotion burst, and the other pointing with all fingers at the man behind him. This man's words, expression, and actions would not keep me silent.

I felt white-hot anger erupt in my chest but just as quickly felt the soul-crushing freeze of loss and abandonment. The clash of such opposite emotions in such a climactic way brought a scream to my lips that would go unconquered. It erupted and exploded, tearing from my throat as I collapsed onto my knees beside the odd jelly-stained body of my Papa. The scream came and came some more as I pounded on Papa's chest, imploring him to awaken and give me that sly smile that implied some sort of shared secret. His body moved like a puppeteer's marionette, unresponsive but for the effects of my small fists on his chest. The younger man and the older man both shrunk back from me, eyes in the full moon stage and mouths open like the darkest pits of Hell. I turned from my father's form to both of them and directed my scream in their direction, standing up shakily and stumbling toward them in a sort of stupor. The Uniforms quickly backed into the jelly-stained hall, where many other Uniforms were cleaning up the fallen Uniforms. As my screaming continued and I approached even closer, my voice faltered as did my stride. I collapsed onto my side with fuzzy darkness beginning to take over my vision and distorted silence taking over my hearing. I saw many legs rushing around, and felt myself floating like the Lord Himself was calling me home. Not long after I was submerged into the inky blackness and quiet of the Void.

Engines; that's what I first heard. Bumps; that's what I first felt. Petrol and sweat; those are what I first smelled. A metal bench; that's what I first saw. Confused and bewildered I made to push off the bench, moving my hands to do so, when I discovered that I could not move them. I writhed around and around as I tried to free them, finally sitting up and screaming in terror as I realized I was in a truck somewhere. However, I had trouble hearing my own screams due to the cloth that was tied over my mouth, blocking the sound I put forth heartily. Looking around in a more controlled manner, I wondered how I ended up in a half-track; the name was familiar to me as Grandfather described them when they marched past our house and took my cousins and uncles. Unable to find an answer to the slew of questions I possessed, I settled for examining the men around me. They were all still, faces blank as their hearts must be. The Uniforms were Roman busts, carved from a strong rock such as marble or granite. They were pillars in the bumping half-track, immune to its disconcerting lurches. Several of the Uniformed Statues, younger-looking than the rest, actually swayed and bounced and winced as I did, while the others enjoyed pointing to them and laughing. Attempting to sit forward so I may speak to them, I felt a hard metal object smack into my face, drawing a hoarse croak from my ruined throat, and the impact made me sniffle and flinch away.

"_Bewegen Sie sich nicht, Schlampe, oder ich werde deine Kehle aufgeschlitzt." _**(Translation: "Do not move, bitch, or I will slit your throat.")** A voice snarled, close to my ear. I whimpered and nodded to him, burying the indignation and rebellious intentions as effectively as I could. For good measure the man hit me in the gut with the same object, making me double over and spit that odd, red, metallic jelly onto the floor. I was shoved back against the wall and croaked in pain as my head slammed hard against the steel, feeling a fist connect to my nose and break it, followed by many snickers and hollers and curses.

"_Freche Kind! Wie konnte sie es Wagen in unserer LKW spucken?_"

"_Gute treffer, Gregor! Lehren, ihr eine Lektion!_"

"_Reinigen sie es auf! Lecken sie aus dem boden wie ein guter Hund!" _I flinched from the harsh tone, whimpering pathetically as I shook with fear.

"_Gut? Was wartest du Mädchen? Eine Einladung?_" **(Translations: "Insolent child! How dare she spit in our truck?" "Good hit, Gregor! Teach her a lesson!" "Clean it up! Lick it up like a good dog!" "Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation?")**I sniffled and slithered off the bench, keening in pure agony as the abuse had aggravated _all _of my injuries from the crash and bent over, licking up the foul jelly as I had been ordered. All finished I stumbled back to the bench and collapsed onto it, crying with my hoarse voice into the metal. They left me in my pit of despair then, and went back to their silence. I had noticed several of them holding cigarettes and lighters to one another and felt myself drawn to those small fires in this time of depression. Forcing myself to sit back up and face them with a Roman bust of my own, I croaked out to them proudly.

"_Entschuldigen sie, meine Herren, ich konnte eine Kippe und Licht?_" **(Translation: "Excuse me, sirs, could I have a **kippe*** and a light?) **The looks on their stone faces was funny to me, though I did not show it or express it I any way, shape, or form but merely stared at each one in turn, letting them all see my seriousness. One of them finally responded, passing a small rounded-white tube to me, and another flicked his light and set my cigarette alight. I chanced a look at the Uniform beside me for the first time, and his face seemed highly impressed by not only my knowledge of the term _kippe _(*most common German slang term for "cigarette") but also by my question in of itself.

I took a hefty drag from my _kippe _and blew out a perfect smoke ring, my eyes alight with the obvious challenge. The Uniforms' carved faces of marble or granite crumbled before me, melting into cheery smiles by the heat of my offered camaraderie. In response to my smoke ring the eldest of the men around me, a grizzled veteran with a salt-and-pepper beard and flecks of each in his dark hair, blew a series of _10_ smoke rings from one drag of the _kippe_ between his index and middle fingers. The veteran, I referred to him from that moment on as "Smokey," turned to me and I saw his eyes alight with youthful joy and his face split into an impish smirk. I bowed my head to him in submission, but quickly brought the _kippe _to my lips and blew a series of seven smoke rings. In a random order the other Uniforms tried to match our precisely-shaped smoke rings, but those that did only got to about three or four; nowhere near my or Smokey's grand total. I jumped slightly as I heard a man from the elongated turret call out to whom I assumed was Smokey.

"_Oberstabsfeldwebel Heinrich! Wir stehen kurz vor Schweinfurt!_" **(Translation: "Sergeant Major Heinrich! We are nearing Schweinfurt!") **Smokey nodded gravely, giving me a wink and tossing his _kippe _over the side of the half-track, picking up his long-rifle and holding it diagonal on his lap. The other Uniforms followed his actions, tossing away their _kippe _and hoisting their diverse rifles. I let my eyes wander to the Uniform beside me, a man I would forever refer to as "Blinky" due to his tendency to blink a lot, blinking a question to him. He inclined his head to me in return, and then looked at Smokey, gesturing to me and to the crate beneath the bench I was sitting on. Smokey grinned in appreciation of whatever mute conversation they were having, and all of the other Uniforms averted their eyes as I was hoisted onto the bench and hastily undressed by Smokey and Blinky. They wrapped something around my chest and hips, making both areas flat and firm. Smokey then leaned down to the crate while I shivered in my partial nudity, and when he stood back up he held a uniform like his, only much smaller. They gave me warm underclothes to wear, though they weren't bulky like they looked to be, and then helped me put the uniform on. That done, Blinky drew his knife and viciously attacked the blonde locks I had been so proud of for so many years, leaving it ruffled and wild, and just barely reaching my ears. Smokey placed a helmet over my head and Blinky a belt on my waist, complete with ammunition packs and a pistol. I knew not what they had in mind, so I voiced my confusion.

"_Blinky, Smokey, was los ist? Warum gibst du mir eine gleichmäßige und langfris Gewehr? Warum muss ich ein Messer und Pistole?_" **(Translation: "Blinky, Smokey, what is going on? Why are you giving me a uniform and long-rifle? Why do I have a knife and pistol?") **The Uniforms before didn't answer for awhile, but eventually it was Smokey who responded. He also looked amused by my choice of nickname for himself and his comrade.

"_Hör zu, Mädchen. Sie müssen handeln, als ob sie ein Soldat in der Heer sind. Wenn Sie auf lassen, dass sie nicht zu uns gehören sie unaussprechliche Dinge mit dir machen. Ich bin nicht bereit zu stehen und geschehen lassen, nicht ohne zu versuchen, um zu helfen. Fühlt sich "Blinky" die gleiche Weise. Als wir nach Schweinfurt erhalten unsere Mannschaft lernen sie, diese Waffen zu benutzen. Sie ein Mitglied dieser Familie zu werden._" **(Translation: "Listen, girl. You need to act as though you are a soldier in the Heer **(German Army)**. If you let on that you do not belong with us they will do unspeakable things to you. I am not willing to stand by and let this happen, not without trying to help. "Blinky" feels the same way. When we get to Schweinfurt our squad will teach you to use those weapons. You will become a member of this family.") **My eyes were widening as he spoke, to the point where Blinky placed a hand on Smokey's shoulder and gave him a look I couldn't see. Smokey nodded firmly, a small smile dominating his features. I smiled as well, realizing in a flash that this man was willing to break the law in order to keep me safe. Of course, I wasn't to know that the War would be anything _but _safe. Smokey's unit had been told that they would be held back, only seeing action when there was no one else. However...soon after we arrived in Schweinfurt we learned that this was not the case. We would be sent to the Front lines in a major push against the Western nations. Unintentionally I was swept up in the surge of patriotic nationalism, eagerly agreeing to accompany Smokey and Blinky for as long as my body would allow. They smiled wide and pounded me on the back, and even now I blame those two for the inconsistent dull pains I get in my back. So we were off to war, and while I was unaware of it at the time I would be drastically changed by War's end.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

**Thank you to the one person that reviewed! I greatly appreciate it, you know! A quick fact: the girl is meant to have been eleven. Now she is older, but in the first chapter she was supposed to be eleven.**

Chapter Two

I sat on a charred tree stump, cleaning the barrel of my rifle with a small rag. This action was more habitual than it was necessary, and as the cold winter air blew from the north I huddled deeper into my heavy coat and silently cursed my threadbare gloves. As I finished the ritual I looked around, noticing many of the trucks were still absent.

_'Perhaps the raid was unsuccessful after all,_' I thought sullenly, saying a quick prayer for the men that might never be coming back. I couldn't believe that just over three years ago I was so innocent as to call blood, "jelly," and describe death as, "sending them to God." So naive was I back then, as I recall thinking that perhaps the War wasn't as bad as I feared.. Such ideations were no longer in my mind, no, for they had been long ago replaced with a more realistic notion: "The War will not end until every Westerner lays down his rifle and surrenders to the might of the Fatherland, until the Deutschland regains its prominent position in the world, until we have revenge on those that forced us into poverty." Whether or not I agreed with that statement was inconsequential and irrelevant. My orders were to fight until Death came for me, and I would follow these orders with a vengeance. The sooner The War was over the sooner I could find out who killed my mother and my sisters.

Perhaps now is as good a time as ever to elaborate on my past. When I was born, my Papa and Momma owned a small farm in western Poland (or was it eastern Germany?), and lived with Momma's brother Hans; the house was just as small as the farm. Naturally, growing up I wished for nothing more than to inherit the farm and keep the tradition of working it alive. The farm had been a gift from a foreign dignitary to my Great-Great-Grandfather, and ever since that time the man of the family would be left the farm when the elder one died. Of course, since my parents never had a son, the farm would go to me, the eldest of three daughters. I was always more boyish than my sisters, not deigning to wear the dresses or long skirts as the others did; opting instead for the overalls and baggy shirts my Papa and Großvater wore when they tended to our horses and cattle, and the thick boots and wide-brimmed hats they wore when cultivating the crops. The farm had the fortune to be considered a ranch as well, which meant more money for our family.

Being the only female in the family that actively cared for the horses and tended to the farm (the other three cared for the other animals and did the housework), I never got as close as I desired to my sisters. I had two of them, two wonderful little things as adorable as they were intolerable. the second oldest of the three of us was Ellie, two years younger than myself. She and I couldn't possible have been more dissimilar. Where I liked to ride horses, cultivate the crops, and be out well into the pre-dawn hours with Papa and our Uncle Hans Ellie liked to be in the kitchen with our mother, cleaning dishes and talking about what the future might hold for her, or be out with Trudy among the animal pens. Trudy was the youngest, for years younger than Ellie, and she was so talented with a paintbrush one would never guess they were related. Not only did I not look like her (I looked like neither of my siblings, parents, or grandparents, but my Großvater said I had his mother's slim form and his father's grayish-green eyes), but she also had so much more talent than I could ever hope for. The only things I excelled at were physical activities like soccer of farming.

Trudy, I believe, truly idolized me. She followed me almost everywhere, showed me countless pictures she'd drawn, and would tell anyone who would stop for five seconds just how awesome a role model I was. Trudy took her love for me one stop further when Papa and Uncle Hans got enough money to buy an addition to the house, so Trudy and Ellie finally got their own rooms and we gained a long-needed storage space. What Trudy did in her room was truly fantastic and incredibly well-thought through; she had used her allowance to buy many different kinds of colored paper and used tree sap from the nearby tangle of maple trees to cover her walls in a collage of rainbows. I had once confided in Trudy that the reason I chose not to have a favorite color tied into the reason I didn't behave like other girls, and that reason is because I saw the infinite possibilities that came with being individual. People often mistook my sense of individuality for rebellion and chalked me up as a bad influence on their children, incidentally isolating me from my peers. Without any friends keeping me away from the farm, I became something of a spectator at social gatherings rather than an active participant.

Only one person in my life has ever truly understood this sentiment, and that person was my Uncle Hans. I'm not sure how he understood, as he never saw fit to share that story with me, but he clearly did. Yet, for all the things he didn't tell me, the things he did seemed wickedly important, like how he was a pacifist and truthfully had next-to-no interest in working on the farm for much longer. My Uncle told me that he was looking into a place in the mountains where he could finally be alone. I couldn't ignore the fact that some things were changing, like how more and more covered trucks were turning onto our dirt roads and the dirt roads of our neighbors, taking men away with official letters and harsh words. Oddly enough, though my Papa was not drafted into the Army my Uncle was, and even after all this time I have received no word of him. The days seemed to get more and more panicked, with Papa and Momma forgetting to do little things like take out the trash or clean the animal pens, dumping these extra chores on my sisters and I. The decision to leave came three months after Uncle Hans had been called away. Trudy had been so excited to leave she'd forgotten her paintbrush behind, but my grip on her hand was unrelenting and she was forced to leave it behind.

I once again found myself staring at nothing, the hand circling around me and trying to get to me. I reached out to it and fell to my knees, but still I crawled after it.

"_Arnalt!_" a voice called out, and I recognized my given name. I stopped my desperate crawling and laid still, staring ahead. "_Was tun Sie, wertlose Schwein! Aus dem Boden!_" **(Translation: "What are you doing, worthless pig? Get off the ground!")** I quickly scrambled to my feet, angry at being called a pig.

"_Es tut uns leid, Sir. Es wird nicht wieder vorkommen._" **(Translation: "Sorry, Sir. It will not happen again.") **I looked down at the uneven ground, waiting for some sort of reprimand. Sensing that none was forthcoming I raised my head and looked around, realizing that I was alone. The nearest soldier to myself was sleeping soundly against his pack, and had been for the past hour. _Strange_, I thought slowly, wondering what was going on with me.

"_ACHTUNG! Jeder montieren und raus hier! Eingehende Luftangriff! Bewegen, Sie Scheiße Flecken!" _**(Translation: "ATTENTION! Everyone mount up and get out here! Incoming air raid! Move, you shit stains!") **The harsh tone of our commander jarred everyone into action, including myself. I raced to my pack and slung it over my shoulder, picking up my rifle and racing to the salvation of my truck. I hopped into the back and hastily rushed to my seat, forgetting in my blind rush that it was without a driver. Cursing myself for my stupidity I slid over the top and into the driver seat, honking the horn until everyone in my squad had mounted up. Slamming the stick into gear I pushed down hard on the gas, feeling the whole monstrous vehicle roar to life beneath me. I hurried away to the rendezvous point, letting other soldiers pile into the half-track with us despite Smokey's incessant hollering.

BA-BOOM, BA-BOOM, BA-BOOM!

JUGA-JUGA-JUGA-JUGA-JUGA!

The sounds of .50 cal machine guns, missiles, and conventional bombs ripped through the already prominent unease of my consciousness, cranking me up to brand-new levels of jitters and situational awareness. All of these things contributed to making my driving not only erratic but also jolting, the sound of bodies smacking into steel and other bodies coming from the back of the half-track like a symphony by Ludwig van Beethoven. When the sounds finally stopped and I turned onto a back road, following the vehicles before me. _'Maybe I'll finally catch a break for once. The raid must be ov-'_

FFFFFWWWWOOOOOSSSSSHHH! and a firebomb going off close enough to the vehicle that my face burned to the third degree shattered through my thoughts, dashing them away as I swerved madly away from the crater left by the explosion. Inevitably I was unable to avoid it and the back left wheel slammed into the hole and bounced up violently. With a startled yelp, one of my comrades was thrown from the back of the vehicle, and though I stopped to get him back to the salvation of the vehicle, a horrified shout crushed that notion.

"_Nein! Er ist tot, gehen Sie einfach!_" **(Translation: "No! He is dead, just go!") **I flinched and allowed the clutch to release, jarring the vehicle forward. The bumpy road tossed us around once more, and as I kept going a change in wind brought down a whirl of snowflakes, floating passively around our frozen bodies and accumulating on the shoulders and heads of those men behind me in the truck bed. The dog tags we were required to wear had long ago become ice tags, and froze to my skin quite completely. It would _not _be easy to remove them, I knew that much right away. Of course, the task of keeping the massive truck on the road and close to the other was most important, so I blocked out every other distraction and focused on that instead.

"_Schauen Sie dort! Ich kann Rückleuchten bis weit sehen! Wir müssen ind der N__ähe__der Rest der Spalte sein!_" **(Translation: "Look there! I can see tail lights! We must be close to the rest of the column!") **I called out to the ice sculptures behind me, and they began to move. The sight of blackened and yellowed, though some were white, teeth told me that a few of the frozen men were still alive. Of course, looking more closely at the lights, I thought that there was something a bit off about them. They weren't positioned like those of standard-issue German trucks. Such a small thing to notice, but _because _it was so small it was all the more noticeable in the falling snow. I slowed my approach and motioned to a more skilled driver to take over, dropping into the snow and bringing the rifle to my shoulder. Sneaking through the frozen tendrils of fern and bracken I laid eyes on the vehicles before me, recognizing the accents of the men though I did not know what their conversations entailed. Sneaking up to the trucks and praising Mother for teaching me to walk lightly I placed satchel charges on their undercarriages, smiling wickedly as I played the images of twisted metal and charred bodies in my mind, telling myself this was payback for the violent death of Blinky and his small squad. Steeling myself for the anguished cries and terrified screams I rushed to the welcoming embrace of those ferns and bracken, diving into their shadow as I set off the chain of explosions that would take their lives and morale.

As I mentioned before, The War had changed me for the worse, and I was now devoid of pity or any kind thoughts for my enemy. I heard the footsteps of my squad behind me, and though they all outranked me, der Feldwebel came to me and put his hand on my shoulder, pointing before me at the column of devastation, as only a few seconds had passed since the explosions ripped the Americans apart.

"_J__ä__ger Steiner. Nehmen Punkt und schlachten jene Amerikanischen Schweine._" **(Translation: "Private Steiner. Take point and slaughter those American pigs.") **Der Feldwebel was insistent on this last part, and his eyes burned with the fierce fire that one who has been through deep sadness and experienced great loss would show. I knew this look because it was the same look I wore when I looked in the mirror. Der Feldwebel and I had so much in common that we always seemed in sync, and I knew that I was easily his favorite Jäger by far. However, much to his chagrin, I did not believe in the concept of a God any longer. I knew by now that if there was a God then He must be wicked and His heart must be colder than the glaciers that dominated the north, for who could be so wicked as to sit idly by while millions of his "beloved children" died at the hands of their brethren. The alternative to this was so outlandish my mind at the time could not comprehend; God had some sort of master plan for all of humanity, perhaps involving a superior race, that would require a mass extermination. Shrugging off the fog that had settled over my mind as these thoughts raced through it I spun around and crept back to the Americans, slitting their throats and shooting their chests. Blood spurted and warmth left bodies, cries rang out and the gunfire was like a knife in the silence.

"Pls 've meh'r'ss'y!" Was a common plea, but I could not understand it and so I thought they were calling for help. I didn't give them the chance to repeat it, and after about twenty minutes there was no movement but the falling snow and the flickering flames. Sneaking back to der Feldwebel I looked into his eyes, and his were worried. He put a hand on my shoulder and locked my gaze with his.

"_Arnalt. Nur weil sie Hunde und den Tod verdienen, rechtfertigt nicht eine gnadenlose Schlachten. Sie baten um Gnade, warum haben Sie nicht nehmen sie gefangen? Gefangene sind wertvoller als Körper, und Sie wissen._" **(Translation: "Arnalt. Just because they are dogs and deserve, does not justify a merciless slaughter. They asked for mercy, why did you not take them prisoner? Prisoners are more valuable than bodies, and you know this.") **Der Feldwebel looked concerned for my well-being, and suddenly I realized that the Americans must have been begging me for mercy. My eyes must have shown my horror and remorse, for der Feldwebel grabbed my shoulder harder and motioned for us to get back to the truck. Our group boarded the truck and we drove around the devastation, following the road they'd been on and trying not to freeze. The driver was a middle-aged man named Hertz, and he let me sit beside him. I kept the rifle up and ready to shoot, examining the terrain as it blurred past. After a certain point, der Feldwebel stopped the truck and went to one of the compartments down below, giving us American uniforms and painting over the Iron Cross with a shade of green paint. He told me to pretend to be a mute, and so I stuck out my jaw slightly and bit down hard on my tongue, bringing hot tears to my eyes.

"_Ordnung. Wir stehen kurz vor einem amerikanischen Vorposten. Lassen Sie mich und Hertz alles tun, die Reden, der Rest von euch einfach nur zuhören und ruhig sein._" **(Translation: "Alright. We are nearing an American outpost. Let myself and Hertz do all the talking, the rest of you just listen and be quiet.") **Der Feldwebel added this last part menacingly, clacking off the safety of his rifle and glaring at each and every one of us in turn. We all nodded our understanding, and I found myself relaxing slightly. Americans were very kind to passing soldiers, and we would not only be given warm food and blankets, but also, hopefully, more _kippes _and lighters. Not only did _all _of these happen, but we also were given directions to the next outpost; as we passed the isolated encampment der Feldwebel mentioned hearing explosions a couple clicks back, and gave more precise direction upon closer questioning. Once they'd turned their backs, Hertz very hurriedly drove away. I felt eyes on me, and turned my head to lock eyes with a middle-aged blonde American. Being a rural girl myself, I recognized a farmer when I saw one, and this one was wearing the same, tired smile my father used to wear when he was absent from my sisters and I. I decided this man was a father, and his daughter must be back in their home. In a violent flash, I remembered a man from the ambush that resembled this man very closely, but he had fire-red hair and green eyes. I lowered my gaze in shame, knowing I had ripped a family member from this man.

The dirt road stretched before us in a manner befitting that of Grandfather's old stories about an alternate reality, where an apocalypse had taken place and left everyone without power. Things went back to the Stone Age; fighting with swords and killing for scraps of food. This was how I felt while I looked ahead, like Grandfather's stories had come true and I was riding a great mechanical monster through the wilderness. Of course, this was entirely not the case, and that was evidenced by the ever-growing lights before us. I knew now where Hertz and der Feldwebel were taking us, "_Fachmilitärakademie_," or the "Specialist Military Academy." This place broke the young boys and other cadets, leaving them with nothing but severe hatred for their enemy and an inhuman desire for their enemy's organs to be minced on their own bodies. They were worse than a pack of wolves, and left their targets barely recognizable. These..."men" were called "_Die Schneidemaschinen,_" or "The Guillotines." The Academy itself was built like a fortress, almost entirely impregnable but for it's front gate, a weakness that the Americans and their allies would most definitely attempt to exploit. However, as we neared the menacing walls, I realized some things that might jeopardize every man with us: we were still wearing American uniforms, and my appearance, once compared to boys my age at the Academy, would give my true gender away rather nicely. Der Feldwebel seemed to have these same concerns, and if I didn't already believe it his next words would have confirmed it.

"_Setzen Sie auf die deutschen Uniformen, schnell! Steiner, holen Sie sich eine Sturmhaube und decken Sie das Kinn und die Seiten des Kopfes unter dem Helm! Hoffentlich wird es die weircheren Funktionen verbergen." _**(Translation: "Put on the German uniforms, quickly! Steiner, get a balaclava and cover your chin and the sides of your head under the helmet! Hopefully it will hide the softer features.") **I was scared, then, as well I should be. If found out, I would be fed directly to the hungry maw of the firing squads, as would my comrades-in-arms. I could not condemn der Feldwebel, Smokey, and the others to such a fate. I, in a moment of blind courage, did the only thing I could do: put a bullet through my arm, slashed my other arm with the knife, and let the blood cover enough to look like I'd died. Immediately after I threw myself from the truck. In the falling snow, and with the desperation with which I had to flee, I knew my blood trail would be covered very quickly, and der Feldwebel, looking back to me with desperation in his eyes, understood I'd done what I needed to. He motioned to the truck to keep going, and I took off into the wilderness. I knew not where I was going, but I knew I had to get there soon, as the tourniquets I'd just applied would not last forever by any means. I must have run very far, because the alarm sirens of the Academy, indicating a soldier had died nearby, were muffled and distorted. Another desperate couple of minutes and they were lost to my ears entirely. The sun had begun to set long ago, and now the only light came from the snow itself, casting an erie glow all around. The light was almost nonexistent, but I grew moderately accustomed to it before too long. My rifle was strung across my back, the pistol holstered at my side, and the ammunition packets attached to my belt along with three grenades.


End file.
